“Cyclothymia,” tutted the doctor.

Belvedere Jehosophat - Friday, 23 April 2010 - 23:57:22 - print it raw

“Cyclothymia,” tutted the doctor. It took a while to diagnose as she had a tendency to shoot speed during the dysthymic phase and dope during the euphoric. This left her balanced most of the time.

It was a trick she learned from a vaguely synaesthetic alcoholic who was in no position to lose his job. He did the same thing, balanced his moods, and was fortunate enough to earn a few other addictions along the way.

The speed balanced out the low self-esteem, the apathy, the withdrawal, though it made her triskaidekaphobic, too; the dope, for its part, dampened the agitation and that extreme optimism that had her chewing on her gums for days.

The week’s rotation was so comfortably self-perpetuating it was almost perpetual motion – home, where there was an allowance; to one dealer for dope; a second for the speed; home to either blast or crash depending on what her mood was and what she didn't want it to be.

Maybe it was the thirteen after all. Is blood discrete, can its molecules be counted? When the neighbour came over and wanted to go but had none of his own, she offered him some but on the condition that they had the fix together. She was up and she wanted to be down – but because she was up, she didn’t want to be alone.

She started to get her gear ready. “Please,” he whispered, “I’ve already got my gear out...” It was the first and last time she had shared needles.